
V 

) 



LETTERS EAST 



A. PERCY BROWN 



LETTERS EAST 



A. PERCY BROWN 



. • • • • 



MERCED, CALIF'ORN'TA 

THE 'sun" PRESS 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Receiver 

JUN 24 1903 

Copyright Entry 
CUSS CL XXc. No 

o d ^ L ^ \ 

^ _COPY B. I 






Copyright 1903 
Hy ACLKX PERCY BROWN^. 



DEDICATION. 

To Her 

Who is the ''boys best 
friend," and 

To Him 
For whom, with ever}^ 
man, the best appreciation 
ever increases with the 
ripening of the years. 



» 



INTRODUCTION 



It has often been the bur- 
den and is ever the gracious- 
ness of one's own people to 
bear with shortcomings too 
grievous for others; in thi< 
case, the task of the follow- 
ing pages might be more 
than could be borne, were 
it not for the mythical char- 
acter of those who endure. 



CONTENTS. 

Letters to : 

Uncle Fred and Aunt Nellie - i 

Aunt Alice and Uncle William - 14 

Cousin Edith - - 32 

Beatrice . . . ^g 



Looking From 
A Graiv2Lry. 

Home, Feb. i, 1903. 
My dear Uncle Fred and 
iVunt Nellie : 

I have written you so 
often it is hard to tell when 
I last wrote; it was, at least, 
a year ago, was it not? 

You see, since Aunt Kit 
came to California, it has 
taken me all the time to 
look after my extensive 



2 
household affairs; it has 
taken her very much of 
the time, also; therefore, 
it would seem that house- 
keeping has not been mis- 
represented by bacuelors, 
as to its capacious places 
for hiding innumerable 
spare hours, half days, peri- 
odical moments — otherwise 
devoted to rest and leisure 
— with every now and then 
a whole diiy deliberately 
and consciencelessly taken, 
in the interests of some 
long neglected trifle, a 
needy petty convenience or 
two, or a real but inoppor- 
tune illustration of some of 
life's inalienable rights. 

Briefly, this must be why 
I have found so much time 
to write. 

We are having the win- 



3 

ter rains; they usually court 
the good will of the farm- 
ers, every now and then, 
from November to April. 

The rains are the barom- 
eter of California hopes and 
prosperity; which is one of 
the few things wherein 
ever}^ other place I know of 
is so much like California. 

It is particularly muddy 
here, sometimes, during a 
part of the Eastern sleigh- 
ing season. When the sun 
shines for a time, however, 
the mud spares no effort to 
get out of sight quickly. 
The sun in this climate acts 
on the face of the earth like 
a thirsty sponge on a cup 
of water. 

When the water is no 
more, for seven months, the 
cup gets dry and dryer, and 



4 

soon be^^ins to crack and 
warp, is rapidly and repeat- 
edly covered with dust, and, 
to the inexperienced eye, 
appears, certain!}^, to have 
no glad future; but it is re- 
vived by the heav}^ dews, 
nightly, so, when the sum- 
mer has passed, and trees 
that have the habits of the 
East have shed their bright 
patches of Autumn color, 
the dry cup is filled by the 
early November rains, and 
Nature soon enters upon 
her Thanksgiving of gentle 
showers, with the brightest 
and clearest of greens 
One's heart turns to thank- 
fulness in a beautiful valley 
where the mountains seem 
but a few miles away, ajid 
the sea, too, is not far. 
Those beautiful bine masses 



5 
of form and color, spotted, 
here and there, with snow, 
are unspeakably^ fascinating. 
Today, it seems as though 
the whole range were man}^ 
miles awa}' — fort3% and as 
many more; tomorrow, the 
soft blue and patches of 
white will seem scarcely 
beyond a neighbor's place. 
The sun before rising lends 
the lower ranges enough 
light for the deepest of 
marine blues. Such a blue 
as one struggles to make 
forever one's own, to take 
into one's innermost depths 
of lasting realization. And 
this deep dawn color, so 
solid, so real, has, between 
'it and you, low banks and 
marshes of mist, silenil}^ 
and softly changing outline, 
as the sun draws near and 



6 
over the horizon, and, finally 
melting away in the begin- 
ning of the day. One 
leaves one's window reluct- 
antly, for, after breakfast, 
all will be gone; and the 
day, that will have come, 
will be going on — like all 
other days — beautiful, but 
with its morning passed — 
morning in the charm of 
its clear, brief hour without 
a sun. i\nd this bothers 
one so, too, to tell which is 
the more charming, the 
swiftly passing part of an 
hour, just before sunrise, 
or the one juSt after. '1 he 
mountains ought to be ex- 
cused fr.-m any blame in 
this matter; for the same 
difBculty awaits one in the 
quiet valley of the Platte, 
where the river has 3^et 



7 
some four score of miles 
and more to run before it 
meets the ochre stream that 
comes down from the great, 
roomy Northwest. Or, if 
one stand on an elevation, 
a little back from the shore, 
on old Cape Cod, Nantuck- 
et side, the difficulty is here. 
Even if one give way to one 
of the real temptations of 
life, and roll away to the 
Southland, where the air 
is so soft, the moonlight 
so mellow, and the roses, 
opening liberally, are an 
enchantment of color in the 
heaviest of morning dew, 
the question is not evaded, 
perhaps — perhaps, because 
the hour after sunrise, in 
the Southland, is, certainly, 
a spell of delight. 

But the day that has be- 



8 
gun goes on; and, it is well, 
for would it not be a most 
unwelcome task to go about 
one's work in a day that 
were like either the half 
hour before sunrise, or, the 
one after. How could one 
set about material things in 
a day of such charms. 

It has been said that there 
are not many pretty drives 
about a town which lies in 
the center of this ap-ricul- 
tural portion of the Valley; 
and it is not meet for one 
who is not native to a place, 
by many summers, to dis- 
pute the serious word of 
those who have watched the 
sun set over the Coast 
Range for many years. 
Nevertheless, one is con- 
strained to be true to one's 
self, even if others have 



9 
the weight of conventional 
authority on their side. It 
is better to b^ true to one's 
own conscientious miscon- 
ceptions, and, thereby, 
come, perhaps, to the truth, 
surely, though tardily, than 
to take the word of one's 
neighbor, whose experience 
helps him to know, but does 
not necessarily bring con- 
viction to another. There- 
fore, one must be excused 
for thinking that there are, 
at least in one season, several 
beautiful driveways or roads 
in this particular section of 
equable territory, and, many 
pleasing features within a 
step of the carriage and out 
under the horizon. It is 
true that there maybe more 
of the latter. There is an 
old chip off the block of 



10 

wisdom of some ancient, 
about distance and enchant- 
ment; it may not apply 
here; though, often, one is 
inclined to think that it 
does; but it is so hard to be 
certain about things, any- 
where, anyway, and in 
California, partis ularly, 
where there are so many 
almost perfectly developed 
mirages. 

The mirage, by the 
way, in California, is 
not a creature of the far 
distant horizon, on partic- 
ularly favorable days. It 
is a much bolder illusion, 
yet, truly Western in its 
habits, appearing at almost 
any time, during the Spring 
or Summer, whilmg away 
the hazy hours of the live- 



11 

long day in making * 
stretches of burnt prairie 
out of a recently ploughed 
field, putting in a slough or 
pond, here and there, 
around which the fire has 
run, and leaving the smoul- 
dering ridges and tufts of 
still smoking grass scat- 
tered over the blackened 
waste, just as one sees it 
on a rolling middle West- 
ern prairie, when the racing 
head flame has passed over 
the crest of the hill, and 
the ashes are still so warm 
as to make one's hardy In- 
dian pony refuse to travel 

* One day, in the month of May or June. 
I was driving along under a burning 
sky, although not an unpleasant one, 
when I saw, in the near distance, over an 
area of great extent, what appeared to 
be the smouldering track of a prairie 
fire. The flames appeared to have ju^t 
passed over the ground, skipping little 
spots, now and then; in some places there 
seemed to be distinct little marshes or 
lagoons, which the fire, of course, had 



12 
across the slope that, a few 
minutes before, was a field 
of waving brown and pur- 
ple. When the mirage is 
not occupied with this sort 
of amusement it may be en- 
gaged in deluging a ranch- 
er's building premises, leav- 
ing just room for the larger 
structures to stand out of 
water, with an appearance 
of good approaches to the 
hay or straw stacks by the 
Venetian method. 

Though the length and 
quality of this letter be an 
affliction. Uncle Fred and 
Aunt Nellie, the perpetrat- 

to gro around; and here and there, a few 
buildingrs loomed up hazily, out of the 
smoke rift and brown marsh lands. 
Knowing that I was in a country 
where Nature spares no pains to be 
remarkably deceptive. I was considera- 
bly interested to see how consciously and 
forcibly I was compelled to bring befo»"e 
my attention the fact that this was only 
a California mirage, in one of her 
great valleys, during the dry season. 



13 

or still has the temerity to 
wish to remain, 

Affectionately your 
Nephew. 



It was not unti] I had driven almost 
along-side the border lines of this mirage, 
that the true conditions revealed them- 
selves plainly. A freshly plowed field 
was the background for the burnt prai- 
rie surface; variation in the contour of 
the lan-l, some large buildings, and the 
atmospheric conditions did the rest. 1 
presume that one thing that caused this 
picture to be remarkably real was that 
the soaoking track of a prairie fire, es- 
pecially if seen under circumstances of 
more or less excitement, as such tires 
were to be seen over the broad prairies 
of the Middle West, a generation ago. 
leaves an impression that is not soon ef- 
faced from the mind. At any rate, this 
water and smoke deception does not call 
upon the imagination to fill out^hepicture 
in anyway. If one recall the perfect sum- 
mer days on the South Shore of Massa- 
chusetts, opposite Martha's Vine>ard, 
with the line of tall-masted schooners 
drifting lazily along, far out in the chan- 
nel, under the horizon, it is a pleasant 
reminder of these fading Eastern mem- 
ories to see, on the outskirts of the conti- 
nent, this fine water deception of the 
California mirage. 



14 



PIoME, May 6, 1903. 
My dear Aunt Alice and 
Uncle William: 

Once in a while one 
goes driving; some people go 
oftener. One of the most 
pleasing things about the 
country drives of Califor- 
nia is that the tree trunks 
are so richly covered with 
lichens, owing, partly, I 
suppose, to the large amount 
of moisture in the atmos- 
phere, for so many months 
in the year. This growth 
is very rich in strong 
browns, yellows, grays, and 
the softer tints of light 



15 

blue. For a time, I believe, 
these small plant folk were 
not considered to belong to 
the true Lichen family; 

' but, if I am not mistaken, 
one of the most recent of 
the German authorities 
places the beautiful para- 
sites among the true 
Lichens. 

One cannot help feeling, 
in driving over the hills of 
New England, or across the 
fertile fields of the Middle 
West, that nature has a 
great variatioa in her cap- 
acity for presenting a di- 
versity of scene. A New 
England or Middle West- 
ern winter is certainly a 

(' very different picture from 
a mid-summer scene in the 
same locality. I suppose 
that it has been a common 



16 

amusement for the youth 
of many lands, on scorching 
harvest days, to try and 
picture to themselves a win- 
ter day, from the memories ^ 
of the past season, behind 
the real summer scene, as 
it were, with its intensely 
hot sun and sweltering at- 
mosphere. In some places 
it would seem that the im- 
agination might need to be 
quite strong and persistent ^ 
to get any clear impression 
of a rigorous winter day 
and a hot mid-summer day, 
in the same half hour. In 
California, however, the 
task may be easier than 
elsewhere. The residents 
say that the seasons are so ^ 
badly mixed that they do 
not know themselves apart, 
anyway; it is really true 



17 
that the characteristics, re- 
spectively, of winter and 
summer are so different 
from what they are in other 
climates that Nature is giv- 
en the appearance of having 
got in a hurry, or hav- 
ing become a trifle careless 
or indifferent as to her cli- 
matic distinctions, For in- 
stance, it takes a very hard 
frost, and a protracted one, to 
lay the little violets low; as 
for the grass, through the 
cold mid -winter nights, 
hard frosts seem to have 
very little effect upon it. 
Undoubtedly, the thousands 
of cattle that graze in the 
luxuriant valleys sometimes 
feel ver\' chilly, especially 
during the raiu}- season; 
but their backs are not cov- 
ered with snow, or icicles 



18 
do not hang from their 
sides, for days at a time, 
which, often, is a part of the 
winter decoration of their 
less fortunate fellow crea- 
tures of the Middle West. 

It is human nature to 
come to think that the 
change of the seasons is a 
part cf the very fabric of 
creation; and humanit}^ is 
very much a servant of 
habit; thus, at first, it is not 
a little incident, in one's 
observation, to see, during 
the winter months, hun- 
dreds and thousands of 
acres of waving grass, dot- 
ted, sometimes, very per- 
ceptibly with the well satis- 
fied herds. 

The contrast of this can 
be easily realized, if, on an 
August day, one goes into 



r; 



19 
the open, and sees stretch- 
ing about him, almost like 
a sea, the heat waves of a 
temperature that is run- 
ning from Too^ to 115^, 
Fahrenheit, or higher, un- 
der a cloudless sk}^ The 
grass is a light brown; the 
horizon is an unbroken bank 
of haze; the grazing herds 
stand motionless, and ap- 
pear, through the oven-like 
atmosphere, like phantom 
creatures, abiding their 
hour. I was driving with 
an old, patriarchal resident 
one da}-, who, in speaking 
of the wonderful power 
which this kind of an at- 
mosphere has for giving the 
effects of mirage, said, that, 
in the pioneer da3S, a man 
on a horse, well off under 
the horizon, would appear 



20 
very much like a ship in 
the distance. 

As to atmospheric eftcQts, 
it is interesting to compare 
various Southern and semi- 
tropical climates. For in- 
stance, the balmy air and 
lazy days of Southern Ten- 
nessee have a peculiar 
charm not easily forgotten; 
the mornings are so fresh 
and soft, the roses are lad- 
en so heavily with dew, the 
sun rises over the moun- 
tains so deliberately and 
genially, that the tempta- 
tion to simply sit down and 
be happy is well nigh irre- 
sistible. Mr. — , a gen- 
tleman who was in business 
in the South for some time, 
and whose home was in one 
of the most historic of spots, 
had a charming wife, whose 



21 
attitude on the question of 
climate and industrj^ always 
seemed to me particularly 
logical. ''When I was in 

/ the North," said she, "I 
was not laz}^ and I tried 
to avoid being so here; 
but I have given up the 
fight, and now I enjoy be- 
ing lazy, and feel in perfect 
harmony with my environ- 

\ ment; so I am going to be 

' satisfied, and I do not want 
to go back North; for, then, 
I should want to get over 
being lazy." It seems to 
me that some of the resi- 
dents of the delightful 
South have, to a great 
extent, reached exactly this 

' condition. You cannot 
make much money, as a 
young man once told me, 
but it is a good place to en- 



22 
joy life, and simpl}' be 
happy with things as they 
are. This may not be 
thoroughly American; but, 
I dare say, it is, in a way, 
quite accurately Southern, 
and America is not meas- 
ured in one direction only. 

The cotton growers and 
manufacturers of the South 
have to contend, we know, 
with certain conditions of 
labor, which the white man, 
as yet, has not met ver}- 
successfully. And, one of 
the most inconvenient char- 
acteristics of these con- 
ditions probably is, that the 
energy of the North, on 
finding itself in this South- 
ern climate, refuses to con- 
tinue, without great en- 
couragement, its habitual 
exertions. Therefore, 



23 

some may reasonably be a 
little slow to think of mak- 
ing a home in a climate 
where indnstry, of the 
Northern t^^pe, is always 
threatening, with the best 
of people, to strike. 

It is not very easy to 
realize, that, in the State of 
California, there are a num- 
ber of private estates, the size 
of some of which is greater 
than the combined areas of 
a number of the Atlantic 
States. The owners of 
these wide areas are gen- 
erally engaged in the cattle 
raising business, in connec- 
tion with general agricul- 
tural interests; particularly 
such farming as would 
naturally be required, to 
conduct, profitably, large 
stock ranches. The capital 



24 

invested in some of these 
great plants is not always 
American. It would be in- 
teresting to know whether, 
on the whole, the great 
ranches are paying a good 
dividend, either actually, 
or such, in comparison wath 
the smaller general farms 
and fruit places. 

One cannot but feel that 
the time will come, none 
too soon, when the wheat 
ranchers, as they are now 
known, will become opera- 
tors, or owners, of smaller 
general farms. These men 
who now raise wUeat on 
farms, or ranches, as they 
are called here, ranging 
from several hundred to 
several thousand acres in 
size, seem to be losing, 
quite uniformly, large 



25 
aiiioLiiits of money. As one 
recently told me, who is 
operating 5000 acres, "This 
is a gambling business; it is 
simply a matter of gambling 
on the weather." "I know," 
he continued, "that this is 
all there is to it, but it 
seems to be necessary." 
And, moreover, said he, the 
harder the times, and the 
more exacting the owners 
are in their terms, the more 
land one must operate in 
order to make expenses and 
something more; because, 
one can only make so much 
on a bushel of w^heat, and 
to make more money one 
must have more bushels, 
which tan be raised with 
the same number of nlule 
teams and the same num- 
ber of men, working harder, 



26 
or with iiearh' the same 
equipment. The laud that 
we were riding over, dur- 
ing this conversation, is an 
excellent fruit soil; the gen- 
tlemaii himself said that it 
would some day be divided 
into little fruit farms, de- 
voted to peach culture. 

About the first thing that 
one is inclined to think of, 
with reference to California, 
is that nature seems to have 
been very chary of her rain 
fall. The people of South- 
ern California would give 
almost anything, I imagine, 
if they could be quite sure 
of a generous number of 
rainy da^^s. The ranchers 
of the wheat growing re- 
gions would, probabl3^, not 
be able to farm the thous- 
ands of acres that they 



21\ 
handle now so easil}-, if 
there were as nmch rain 
fall as the East and Middle 
West are acquainted with. 
It seems to be one of the 
uniformities of nature that 
her compensations are just 
and certain. Owing to the 
fact that the climate is so 
dry in these wheat giowiiig 
areas, the combined har- 
vester takes the gram off 

One of these highly useful machires 
cuts, thrashes and sacks the grain as it 
goes over the field, drawn by about 
thirty mules or horses. One man with 
one "jerk line" or, possibly, with two 
lines for greater safet>. drives the long 
column that furnishes the motive power, 
another good man, by the exercise of 
great agility, sews the sacks as they are 
rapidly filled, and a third looks after the 
running of the machine. One of these 
modern cradles can cut in the neitjhbo/"- 
hood of forty acres, in a day of twelve 
hours. A single "swath/ is eighteen 
feet wide, the number of sacks piled on 
the stubble, about four hundred, and the 
bushels of wheat ready for market, one 
thousand. For the machine that makes 
these things possible, the rancher, or one 
of his neighbors, pays $1,650. Audit 
seems to be worth wh'le, either to 
own or to hire one. The broad tire ex- 
panse of the gigantic maiu wheel is 



28 

the stalk, and leaves it in 
piles of sacks, regularl}- dis- 
tributed over the stub- 
ble field, ready for the 
mule teams and great 
wagons. The Eastern far- 
mer could do nothing of the 
sort. His grain is not fit 
to thrash when it is on the 
stalk, and he could not 
thrash it to advantage, if 
he wanted to; although, if 
he lets it stand too long it 
shells out. Therefore, he 
goes through several oper- 
ations, at the cost of much 
time ] and labor, arriving, 
some weeks or months later, 
at the same end as the 
California r a n c h e r. It 
would, therefore, be sur- 



equipped, in later years, with teeth so 
long that, when the powerful breaks are 
set. even thirty excited mules would be 
wasting their time in trying to run awaj". 



29 

prising if he were to attempt 
to cultivate any such num- 
ber of acres, as is possible 
where twelve mule plows, 
, following one another in 
numbers, plowing the land 
and planting the grain at 
the same time, leave noth- 
ing further to be done un- 
til the following summer, 
when the combined har- 
. vester, with the mule teams 
'and wagons, put the crop 
in the warehouse and aboard 
the cars in a trict . 

Speaking of mule teams, 
it might be interesting to 
an Eastern farmer to see 
how several thousand acres 
are turned over, regularly, 
ever}^ season, by each of 
the hundreds of ranchers, 
with no more difficulty than 
farmers in other sections 



30 
have, in plowing a very few- 
hundred acres, or les>. 
There are no snow banks 
here to cover the fertile, 
soft fields during the winter 
months, and, as soon as the 
fall rains begin, the rancher 
can set his gang plows be- 
hind his twelve mule teams 
and not take them out of 
the ground, as it were, until 
his wide acres are read}- to 
leave for the harvester, the 
coming sunnier. The men 
that drive these teams have 
no very difficult task, and 
receive good wages; which, 
however, they are said to 
spend in a questionable 
way with a lamentable 
thoroughness and regular- 
ity. The laboring classes 
seem, in the agricultural 
districts, at least, not to 



31 

have reached that industrial 
period yet, where the value 
of money is appreciated the 
wa}^ it is in the older East- 
ern localities. 

You know, Aunt Alice 
and Uncle Frank, that you 
have sometimes been re- 
lieved of my letters for even 
days at a time. Kindly use 
some of these saved mo- 
ments in trying to overlook 
the serious inroad upon 
3^our leisure, caused b}^ the 
above, through the unfor- 
tunate regard of 

Your affectionate 
Nephew. 







32 



Home, May 6, 1903. 
My Dear Co jsin Edith, — 

Why are you not around 
to go with one, now and 
then? When are 3^ou com- 
ing out? "What first im- 
pressed me when I came?" 
Perhaps you wnll say, 
'^How odd." It was the 
trip across the Bay, and the 
gulls. 

If, in the winter season, 
one go, for the first time, to 
San Francisco, by w^ay of 
one of the large ferry boats 
that cross over from the 
Oakland pier, the great 
number of sea gulls that 
accompany the boat from 



33 

one side of Sau F^rancisco 
bay to the other, may give 
the observer a novel and 
pleasing surprise. They are 
very interesting creatures, 
and it seems about as hard 
for them to fly as it does 
for a duck to swim; the 
matter of getting tired does 
not appear to be one of their 
troubles; they all have ver^- 
good appetites, and it seems 
too bad that something to 
eat does not oftener come 
in their way. If a mouth- 
ful of anything goes over- 
board, it matters not much 
what, all the gulls on that 
side of the .boat imme- 
diately give their attenti(;n 
to getting that one mouth- 
ful, or, rather, making the 
attempt to get it. The gull 
that is successful, at once 



34 

chooses to be alone, in the 
same way that a chicken or 
a turkey, upon finding some- 
thing edible, or even unedi- 
ble, makes off with it, and is 
at once followed vigorously 
by all his companions. The 
note of the gull is a plain- 
tive, light cry, which, when 
repeated by many voices, 
becomes a matter of high 
pitch. 

1'he wind blows some- 
times in San Francisco. It 
is a good place to really 
find out how much the same 
any wnnd is, most anywhere, 
whether on the New Eng- 
land coast, off the shores of 
Lake Michigan, over the 
prairies of the Middle West, 
or down Market street, San 
Francisco. If there is any 
difference, I think, perhaps. 



35 
the ladies use slightly 
longer hat pins, and the 
men wear their hats a trifle 
smaller in the Golden Gate 
Cit}^ than elsewhere. People 
who are not good friends of 
a stiff breeze will find trouble 
in living harmoniously 
in this city. Those lovers 
of the quiet, balmy air, 
where not a leaf stirs, or 
where it is quite an event to 
see a little jostle in tht- tree 
tops, should hie themselves 
to the Southland. Of 
course, the normal sea breeze 
is expected abottt seaports, 
and San F'rancisco Bay is 
no exception, especially in 
the summer. People should 
find it a convenience to live 
in the vicinity of the Bay, 
because there are good 
reasons for not packing 



36 
away winter furs for the 
summertime, and, now and 
then, one is very likel}- to 
need an August wardrobe 
in January. In this respect 
it is an accommodatin.8^ cli- 
mate. One cannot get far 
out of the way by taking an 
overcoat in the morning any 
month in the year; and, if 
one chances to forget it, 
there is not the likelihood 
of presenting a lonely ap- 
pearance; for, lawn dresses, 
furs, light overcoats, heavy 
suits, straw hats, and the 
like, are all on very in- 
timate terms on the street, 
most any da}^; aboard the 
ferry it is true from one 
end of the calendar to the 
other. 

It would seem to me, 
Edith, that the summer is 



37 
a very dangerous season in 
the East; it would be an ap- 
propriate time for 3'ou to 
visit California. While 
earthquakes are very sug- 
gestive natural phenomena 
of what might happen, 
the record of cyclones for 
what has happened is a 
much more pertinent con- 
sideration. These, and 
other things, are believed to 
be true by one who remains, 
x\ffectionatel\' your 
Cousix. 



38 



Home, Ma}- 9, 1903. 

Dear Beatrice, — I sup- 
pose that I am always writ- 
ing about something which 
my Uncle Charles would 
consider to be of distinctl}' 
no importance. But how is 
this to be avoided? Things 
of so called consequence re- 
mind one of business, or, 
what is worse, ma}^ lead to 
serious moments, in which 
there is every certainty of 
saying something in earn- 
est, and the saying of 
earnest things is so ques- 
tionable. Thus, is desire 
driven back to the safe 



39 

things, away from human 
hopes and questions. 

If one go out along Val- 
ley View street and turn to 
the right after crossing 
Manor House Bridge, there 
appears, just ahead the 
opening to that portion of 
Horseshoe Creek Drive 
which lies toward the Si- 
erras and El Capitan Road. 
After crossing the space 
immediately in front of the 
House yard, one's attention 
is taken by the attractive lit- 
tle sketch on the road-side at 
the left. There are about a 
dozen locust trees stretched 
along, in a broken, slightly 
curved outline, and at their 
/^,! bases, in the winter season, 
is a strip of the finest Cali- 
fornia green, sprinkled over 
with the fallen locust leaves, 



40 
now brown and sere, near 
two months past. The tree 
trunks are not large, and 
from their tapering bodies 
far into the branches the 
climate has aided the tiny 
lichen plants, or fungus 
growths, to paint the bark 
in rich, old lemon browns 
and yellows. As the mel- 
low afternoon sun comes 
down through the naked 
branches on to the green 
beneath, the modest width 
of which lies between the 
road and the grass-choked 
fence, itself covered very 
thickly with lichen browns 
aiid yellowish greens, one 
recognizes a simple picture, 
but the sight of it is a quick 
and lasting joy. The mem- 
ory of it haunts one in pass- 
ing further along the drive 



41 
way, looking down its 
graceful lines, and througli 
its charmingh- gilded tree 
tops, on and out into the 
warmer haze of the X'alley, 
or off to the left on the solid 
soft blue of the lower 
Sierras, whose stern white 
peaks and summits hold the 
season for one; for, after 
all, it is winter, the time 
when the woodland scene 
that is green has an added 
charm and vigor. 

So, one stands, to the 
shoe top, in the thick, soft 
green, with the water of a 
near-b}' stream gurgling 
merril}^ along, the finches 
chattering busil}^ overhead, 
and a sense of deep thank- 
fulness withal for the land 
where Summer and Winter 
unite, and the heart, not 



42 
being chilled by the vigor 
of one or stupefied by the 
intensity of the other, is 
made glad b}' both. And, 
more than this, the charm- 
ing thing is not easily for- 
gotten; even if is small and 
of no repute. The memory 
of the fine thing is worth 
something. It abides with 
one and the joy of it in 
after days is a light to cue's 
pathway. The image of it 
remains strong and constant 
through so/rovvs and lesser 
jo3'S It does not become 
angry or lose patience with 
us like our fellows are wont 
to do; even if we know that 
we have done wTong and 
are yet scarcely penitent 
for it, the fine thing cen- 
sures not, but remains firm 
and beautiful, and waits for 



43 

us to come to true repent- 
ance; when this is accom- 
plished it becomes to us a 
r irrier of hope and a prom- 
ise of brighter days. We 
are friends again with our 
own to take up life afresh 
in a new day. And as the 
fine and beautiful thing 
tells us these things we are 
iLirateful to it for the con- 
fidence which it gives us in 
ourselves, and in the future. 
And because of these and 
like things, Beatrice, it will 
ever be impossible to re- 
main less than 

Faithfully yours, 



i1 



JM. 24 lyucj 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




017 064 339 2 



